


A Rozzarian Tango

by Salamander



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: F/M, M/M, dirty dirty threesomes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-24
Updated: 2012-05-24
Packaged: 2017-11-05 23:05:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/412013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salamander/pseuds/Salamander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which there is a masquerade, a dance, two delectable strangers and things go from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Rozzarian Tango

**Author's Note:**

  * For [owlmoose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlmoose/gifts).



> Al-Cid/Ashe/Balthier. 'The air is filled with sparks; take care not to burn it all down.' I would love to see artwork of this trio, but fic would be excellent, too. If you're not up for a triad, I'd also be content with Al-Cid/Ashe and Balthier/Ashe, or even just the three of them smoldering at each other.

There was something about fancy gatherings that made Ashe feel slightly nauseous. It could have been the fact that everyone's attention was focused entirely on her in a much more judgemental fashion than at simple state appearances, or it could simply be her distaste for pomp for pomp's sake. 

She donned her dresses and obeyed the latest fashionable hair style and made all the necessary small talk, but anyone who knew her would be able to see past her smiles and graces to the tightness at her lips and the lack of spark in her eyes.

On this night, however, she was more fortunate. A masquerade had long been an opportunity for a certain type of letting go, and Ashe found herself feeling freer than she had done for months behind her elaborate mask. Of course, the tacit agreement that every masquerade-goer entered into helped too – no recognition was shown from anyone – on this night, they were all strangers.

So why did she recognise the walk of a late arrival? Not everything about him was familiar, but something clicks in her memory and she found that she cannot stop watching him. 

Right up until her path of vision was intercepted by another familiar gait – this one she was less unsure of. She smiled in recognition; held out her hand to be kissed in greeting.

He swept into an elaborate bow, his hand under hers as if he were touching the most precious silks known to man. 

“My lady,” he murmured, brushing his lips against her hand just so. Ashe felt her cheeks burn – unthinkable from such scant contact – yet true nonetheless. 

“How have you been faring-” she began, but his name was cut off from leaving her lips by a finger pressed gently against them.

Al-Cid leant in close to whisper in her ear. 

“Tonight, we are strangers.”

Ashe smiled. “Otherwise there would be no point in the masks, good sir.” She performed a demure little curtsey, watching his face as she did. His reaction was... interesting, to say the least, and she smiled to herself to see it. 

The musicians started up a new tune – fast paced and deep with a rhythm that reverberated into Ashe's very bones.

“Dance with me.” She straightened, proffering her arm, which Al-Cid folded into his own, his hand resting atop hers with a possessiveness that thrilled her. 

“I see you would play at this role with a will, my lady. I must say that I approve.” Al-Cid pulled her close, one hand at her thigh and the other at her waist, Ashe facing outwards. “But I wonder if you know the ah, details of this dance as we dance it in Rozzaria...” He swayed and Ashe swayed with him, his hands on her like a lover's, his lips at her neck as she leaned back, and then the music changed – stormy now – and she whirled outwards and away with a stamping walk, arm extended until they were touching fingertip to fingertip. 

Ashe tossed her hair, and turned from him, feeling the beat of the music inside her – one two three _four_ \- and she turned, straight into the arms of another deliciously familiar stranger. He pulled her in, his cheek to hers in a parody of closeness they had never experienced but which she had long dreamed of. 

_One_ , his hand at her hip. _Two_ , his other on her arm. _Three_ , his head drops to her neck and _four_ and she can feel his hot breath as it prickles her skin with want.

The music fades to a mere background hum as he runs his hand up her face and down again. He is reverent, framing her like a work of art. “It's been a while, Princess,” he says, his words almost slipping between her lips they are so close. The music kicks up to full volume once more and she is back with Al-Cid, almost unaware of her own movements it all feels so natural.

She shivered at his touch – no less heated but so different somehow – as he pulled her in close, her back to his chest and her eyes on her stranger's until her world narrows to herself, Balthier - his posture, still so evident – and Al-Cid – his hands full of promises and his lips at her neck.

Ashe moved down Al-Cid's body sinuously, not taking her eyes from Balthier's until Al-Cid pushed her away with one fast movement. She turned to him as Balthier enveloped her, his lips now at her neck as they swayed. She felt drunk on the two of them, between the two of them, until all she could focus on was the _one-two_ and their hands and the _three-four_ and the thump of her heart in time with the music.

Sliding her leg out to the left, she was hyper-aware that her gown was daringly slit up to the thigh, and the way that both Al-Cid and Balthier's eyes dropped to watch was gratifying. Balthier stepped to the right smartly and Ashe turned, wrapping her outstretched leg about his and then back again, and quick as lightning she spun, her arms out in a careful circle and then about Al-Cid's neck as she arched back off him; his hands held her steady at the waist as her own fell back to brush the floor. 

In a moment of daring, she ran them up the length of Balthier's legs; the leather of his trousers was warm beneath her touch, and she felt his intake of breath at her ear as she rose between them once more. She took hold of his hands and placed them at her waist, on top of Al-Cid's. Their eyes met over her shoulder, and if Al-Cid's slow smile was any indicator, there weren't going to be any complaints from either of them. 

“Why Princess,” Balthier said in her ear. “I had no idea you held this sort of debauchery in your heart.”

Al-Cid chuckled as the music began to fade. “I cannot say I have any qualms about this turn of events, Your Grace.” His fingers moved over Balthier's, locking them together for a moment before he released them and stepped away. He bowed deeply, but Ashe was having none of it.

“Stand,” she said, her fingers beneath his chin. “And you,” she whirled around, skirts spinning dramatically. “No more 'Princess', do you hear me? Not this night.”

Balthier crooked an eyebrow, but he inclined his head in acquiescence, a smile lingering on his lips. “I'm listening,” he murmured.

A new song started up – one in the gaudy new style that was not to Ashe's taste, populated by bad bards and strange time signatures. Ashe shook her head. “I tire of this charade, this masquerade.” She levelled a look at both Balthier and Al-Cid, challenge in her eyes. “You can either join me in my chambers or we can never speak of this again and this night ends here. In disappointment.” 

“And not a bit of unspent frustration too, I wager.” Balthier's voice was his usual laid-back drawl, but there was a trace of heat and certainty under it that thrilled Ashe. 

With the consideration that the masque would look upon her negatively for leaving premature, and before the bards had finished their new song, the entire affair had all the makings of a short-lived scandal, but Ashe was all too aware that she could cry off with a headache, or even give no excuse at all and many would think it normal behaviour from their Queen. She had heard the murmurings on her return to court; she felt their words keenly, though she did not allow them to cut her deep. So some said she'd come back eccentric, and badly-influenced by pirates and thieves? Then so be it. She would live up to her reputation, if only in the privacy of her own chambers.

She beckoned her oldest maidservant over, Mercia; whispered her unfortunate excuses and swept out of the room with nary a backwards glance. She knew they would follow as soon as they were able, but leaving together would not have been advisable. The brand of eccentricity she did not mind, but rumours of further involvement with strange men were sure to loosen her hold on society, no matter how much they adored their poised warrior Queen. Ashe would not stand for her reputation being sullied by _that_ sort of scandal, no matter how much she yearned to follow her heart wholly.

\- - -

Her chambers were blessedly cool after the heat of the ballroom. Though she had left them in disarray, they were back once more to their tidy state, her handmaidens as efficient as ever.

“I will not need to be waited on for the rest of the evening,” Ashe said, removing her earrings. She hung them gently upon a branching structure in the shape of delicate desert flowers and planted her hands flat on the dresser. She held her maid's gaze through the mirror. “I require no guards at all, Mercia. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Mercia bowed and left, closing the door quietly behind her. 

Ashe breathed out a calming breath, and then her door was opening again. She turned as Balthier and Al-Cid slipped in, leaning against the dresser, her arms crossed for something to do. Better that than fidgeting, which was not precisely the ladylike air she aimed to get across. Her mask dangled from one finger - its designed purpose now obsolete - and it caught the light as it spun gently, casting a wealth of gold and blue onto the wall.

“I see you found your way here with no assistance,” she commented, eyes on both unmasked men. “One would almost think that you had navigated these halls before.” This last was definitely aimed at Balthier, who smiled his most rogueish smile – the one that gave her the butterflies she hid so well under control as strong as tempered steel.

“I think we did not find such a treasure in the past,” Al-Cid murmured. He strode towards her, confidence oozing from his stance alone, and held out his hand, as if asking for her permission to touch. Ashe granted it with her own hand on his, pulling him in close for a kiss that took her breath away. She'd always suspected that Al-Cid Margrace would know precisely what he was doing around a lady, and she was gratified to find that this was the utter truth of the matter.

Her eyes fluttered closed at the touch of his tongue on hers; one hand tangled in her hair and the other at the small of her back. He made a little moaning sound as Ashe's hands moved down his back. She beckoned to Balthier, flicking her eyes open to capture his as he moved in close.

Balthier's hands slipped between Ashe and Al-Cid, caressing lower and lower until Ashe moaned into Al-Cid's mouth, her own fingers slipped up Balthier's clinging silk shirt in response.

“I'll wager that you're going to tell me how I'm wearing too many clothes,” Balthier chuckled. He planted a kiss on the exposed skin at Al-Cid's neck, brushing aside the collar of his shirt with nimble fingers. “And order me to my knees, if I know you at all.”

Al-Cid hummed at that thought, breaking off from their kiss to smile seductively at Ashe. “Order me to my knees,” he purred. “I will go gladly for you, Ashelia.”

“Oh, that I _have_ to see.” Balthier brought a hand up to Al-Cid's curls, his fingers tightening in them at the thought. “The great Al-Cid Margrace, brought to his knees by a woman as deadly as she is beautiful.” He chuckled. “It's like something from a torrid romance novel.”

“I would have thought you'd approve of that kind of thing,” Ashe murmured. “Surely the more torrid the better, where you're concerned?”

Balthier smirked. “As long as I'm the leading man.” 

“You are always the leading man, from what I hear,” Al-Cid said with a snort. 

“Too much talking,” Ashe said, cutting their banter short with just a phrase. She walked them forward until Balthier was pushed up against the frame of her four-poster bed and forced to sit down. Al-Cid turned and dropped his hand into Balthier's hair, scraping his fingers along scalp and using it to tilt his head back for a lingering kiss. 

Ashe moved in, taking advantage of Balthier's exposed throat as she kneeled astride him – scraping her teeth across the bobbing apple at the centre until he gasped. Al-Cid moved behind Ashe, surrounding her with his presence – running his hands down her shoulders with reverence until she shivered from the barely-there contact.

She could feel the evidence of Balthier's lust beneath her, and Al-Cid behind; the very smell of them was enough to drive her temperature through the roof. “Too many clothes,” she breathed as Al-Cid kissed her neck. “Remove them.” His hands moved down her back to the lacing of her gown. Her breath hitched. “And yours,” she managed, before Balthier cut off her words with a kiss.

He moaned as her own hands went straight to the buttons on his silk shirt, pulling them open with rather less finesse than usual. “I win _that_ wager, it seems,” Balthier said between kisses pressed to Ashe's lips.

Al-Cid finished with the laces of her gown, pushing it down her shoulders and revealing flesh which prickled with sensation. She flushed as Balthier kissed the tops of her breasts, unwrapping the binder and tossing it to the floor.

“I feel left out,” Al-Cid said with a smile. Ashe's head was tilted back against his chest, and she bit her lip as his hand roamed down her front to cup first Balthier's cheek and then her breast. 

“Well then, let us take this onto the bed proper and we'll see whether you still feel left out.” Balthier's words came out low and sultry, and it made Ashe tingle with the promise it held. She pushed Balthier down, her hands firm on his shoulders, and crawled past him to lounge against the pillows.

“What are you waiting for,” Ashe said softly. “I thought you wished to be brought to your knees in front of me?”

Al-Cid looked at Ashe – he was still clothed, and he lifted the corner of his shirt with a fake-mournful expression. “I await your permission,” he murmured.

Ashe lifted her hand to Balthier's neck and pulled him in for a short kiss, smiling wickedly against his lips. “Help Al-Cid with his accoutrements,” she whispered, and gave him a push away in encouragement. 

“If it pleases you.” Balthier smirked as he fastened his hand in the loose material of Al-Cid's flowing shirt, tugging him forward until he went to his knees on the bed. They fell in an inelegant tangle of limbs, and Ashe laughed. 

“I see we are in for an interesting night,” she said, reaching out for them to come closer.

\- - -

The morning dawned bright and hot, sunlight streaming through the crack in Ashe's thick curtains, as rude an awakening as ever.

Balthier turned away, burying his head underneath one of the multiple pillows strewn about them. “Turn that thing off,” he groaned. “Whose idea was it to put bedchambers facing the sun anyway?”

His complaints held no real heat to them, and Ashe just moved sleepily towards him, burying her own face between his shoulder blades. Al-Cid was wrapped around her at the other side, and she was the most comfortable she had ever been and certainly not willing to change that fact for a mere crack in the drapery.

“I am not expected anywhere today,” she pointed out, voice muffled by flesh. “And my handmaidens know not to disturb me.”

Al-Cid smiled and kissed the top of her spine, one arm flat on her belly and the other atop her thigh. “Then I see no need to move from this bed for some time.”

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this fic with one thing in mind - an Argentine Tango. Namely, the Argentine Tango danced by Harry Judd and Aliona Vilani in the 2011 final of UK's Strictly Come Dancing (shut up). I suggest checking out the video if you want to get the general air of this dance, and the ridiculously sexy nature of the thing.
> 
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K8EMFC_qg7o


End file.
